


The Greatest Test

by ScribbleJotterAmy



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleJotterAmy/pseuds/ScribbleJotterAmy
Summary: Ingva faces the greatest test a weyrwoman can ever face - long before she ever should have to -  due to an unfortunate combination of circumstances that Strand the larger weyrlings in the weyr during threadfall.





	

The Greatest Test.

The wings had been gone for over an hour, the remaining weyrling dragons fast asleep in the barracks having been denied a meal until just after the wings had left and then allowed to gorge themselves into somnolence. The Weyrling master and her assistant had the weyrlings working on a particularly involving game of Aloft on Wing. It was an interesting game, new to Ingva who was a dab hand at Hold the Fort strategy, but this was a dragonrider game. It aimed to get the riders thinking about wing placements and thread coverage. Not unsurprisingly the two bronze riders were trying to dominate the game, but they weren’t always the best of the strategists and Ingva could see P’rahn being roundly beaten by Brown rider G’oren. She smirked in amusement but her mind wasn’t really in it and she was glad she had been given a book by the weyrling master to read as part of her “weyrwoman training”

She tried to pay attention and concentrate but her mind was just not able to grasp at weyr politics of the last pass. There was thread coming. She restlessly kept checking in on her queen, drowsing in the barracks, the clock, as she tried to calculate when it would be overhead, and tried to appear normal to all of the other weyrlings. They seemed to be arguing some point on the board rather vigorously, but the weyrlingmaster hadn’t stepped in – yet. She was glad of the book it made her look like she was doing something, when she hadn’t even turned the fifth page. She couldn’t settle down to it, and eventually she excused herself saying she needed to go to the privy. 

The weyrlingmaster gave her a penetrating gaze, “You’re feeling it aren’t you?”

“Sir. I…I cannot concentrate.”

He nodded, seemingly understanding and cocked his head, a familiar pose to one listening to their dragon “Perhaps it would be better if you were with Brynth. Keep her calm as you have been taught. I doubt she will remain asleep much longer with the wings fighting overhead no matter how stuffed she is. Though Arbenoth says she still sleeps.”

Ingva nodded and left. She was so glad that the Weyrlingmaster was there with them, and the assistant with the lesser colours on a beach in Boll. His bronze would be enough influence on the others, but she feared for Brynth. What Bronze could stand up to a queen? Even a weyrling one? She knew Brynth respected Arbenoth, but…he was a bronze. If Ingva failed to control her queen, the bronze would have even less chance of doing so. She dearly wished she had Nandria as support, but the queens were needed to support the injured of the wings, transferring them to Fort for medical aid when they were injured. As she left the spirited argument spilled over into insults and a fist fight as punches were thrown. She could hear the weyrlingmaster’s irate roar as she retreated.

She went straight to the barracks. The tension in her shoulders building as she somehow knew that thread was overhead. She was far more jittery than she had ever been in the hold when this happened there and she knew why when she made it into the room. Brynth was lying in the curled up pose she’d left her in and to the casual observer asleep, her eyes were open though, and whirling a rapid yellow that belied her apparent relaxation. Brynth was unsuccessfully trying to shield her tension from her rider, and she could see the bronzes and browns twitching. 

That was bad. 

It comes. We must go. We mush flame!

No Brynth, we must not. 

But it is thread!

The golden wings still too weak to carry her aloft rustled and Brynth let out a low growl.

It is thread. Dragons fly thread. I am a dragon I will fly.

How can you fly when your wings will not yet hold you dearest one? Ingva replied, attempting logic, knowing it wouldn’t work.

I can go between and glide.

No!

Ingva went to her queen, reaching out with hand and mind to grasp her, to hold onto Brynth, to control her.

Let me go! I must go. WE must go. Brynth howled pulling away from her hands a little as she tried to stand, and bringing the bronzes and browns to awareness that their queen needed them.

In desperation, Ingva dove deeper into the link she had with Brynth, deeper than she had ever gone in training. She could not lose her Brynth! 

Brynth must not go, must not go between, must not let the OTHERS go either. The bright golden shining mind was there, blazing with anger and instinct and fear and a hundred other alien emotions Ingva could barely understand. That mind scared her with its raw power as much as it drew her with their bond, a silver thread, thickened only lightly the past seven day of training. Knowing what she risked, knowing there was no other choice with the other weyrlings aware, she grasped that bright blazing ball to her, diving in deep, not bothering with the thread to channel her will as taught. 

She was there, and could sense the writhing silver death coming from above, hear the snatches of the fighting wings above as they fought the ancient foe, saw the golden pearls of three other queens, three minds occupied, purpose in every mind to not let thread fall on their home. She felt the overwhelming urge to go, to fight it. She felt the bronze dragon trying to argue her down, felt him straining trying to impose his will. Felt him trying, and failing.

Into that mind she inserted her human logic, they were too young, could not fly, had no stone, and had no training in between. If they flew now, they would die, and in the future thread would fall unchecked with no dragons to come after them. Brynth would be lost between, where Ingva could not follow.

There was anger, rejection, and Ingva pitted her will with it, forcing the mind to accept it as truth until they were of one mind, one purpose. Then came horror and a recoil, and an understanding, and pain from somewhere, a slowly building ache.

The pain was ignored, pushed away.

There was something important they HAD to do.

The mind of shining Gold reached out to the two Bronze pearls of mind, tinged red and purple of anger, strong, but not as strong as her, and to the lesser browns that she could control with ease and made them submit to her will. They would STAY, they WOULD be calm. They would sleep.

The pain came back, more sharp, burning, but they kept the Bronzes and Browns in submission.

A voice, echoing from far away. Ingva? Who was Ingva? What was over? The mind could not understand, they hurt and they had a job to do. Keep the minds calm, and this she did, though the pain slowly began to increase to a point it could not be brushed away, could not be ignored.

There came a shake on their flesh, more shouting and an impingement from another. The bronze who had wanted to subdue them! Why was he trying to do that again? Did he not know how important it was for them to do what they was doing? He should be asleep! 

They reached out and scooped a third bronze pearl into their grasp.

They sent him to sleep as well. They HAD to keep them all calm.

Until it was safe.

A gold mind intruded, then two, then another, so strong she could not ignore them.

They could help!

They must be kept calm she cried desperately, and I hurt, help me!

We help you The minds said, their voices a soothing balm that sent more pain through her head

Let them go, go to sleep Brynth and Ingva, thread is gone, you did well.

It is safe?

It is safe. Rest Brynth and Ingva, 

It is over.

Let them go.

She slowly loosened her grip on the pearls of bronze and brown and the pain lessened as each mind drifted away. 

You have done well Youngling. 

Murmuring in the background and the cry of distressed weyrlings and her skull was on fire. “Quiet all of you numbwitted weyrlings, and calm your dragons. Get them back to sleep.” It was a deep and angry voice, familiar, but not aimed at her. “And once you are done G’oren see to that bloody nose, and then both P’rahn and you are to report to me.”

“Closer quieter voices, soothing, calming in some way  
“What a show of strength”  
“What a weyrwoman she’ll make”  
“If she doesn’t let it go to her head.”  
“We’ll make sure of that Nandria, but let’s get her to the healers first. Mossath says the girl is in pain.”

A tender mental caress from her dam, and an imposition of will she was not capable of resisting and Brynth collapsed into sleep.

Saella caught Ingva as she collapsed into unconsciousness. The girl had bitten through her lip, and blood trickled down her chin. She looked so very young. The girl would need weeks of rest and quiet in the Infirmary to recover from her effort, but it was an effort well spent, and showed the weyrwomen of High Reaches exactly what calibre their most junior member possessed. The girl had gone deep into the bond. Far deeper than was wise, but it had saved the weyrlings and her queen. There was no greater test a weyrwoman could face than pitting one’s self against the will of their queen. And this girl. This young and promising weyrwoman had more than succeeded, she’d triumphed.


End file.
